


Fear Can Bring You Home

by impossiblesongs



Series: Post-Library River and Confrontational Twelve [7]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e09 Forest of the Dead, F/M, Post-Episode: 2014 Xmas Last Christmas, this is so timey-wimey it made my head hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Doctor practically itches with the possibilities of this meeting. What will he find behind those doors? Who? How old would they be? All the unknowns he could want await him inside that house, and how desperately he craves collision with such endless amount of infinities…. Then he glimpses over at Clara.</i> – Clara’s first visit(s).   (part of the ‘Post-Library River & Confrontational Twelve’ series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer.  
>  **AN:** This part of the series has followed in the footsteps of the others, or that canon has suggested, containing much of the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey lifestyle that the Doctor and River have been prone to experience. May it make enough sense to be understood although it happens to take place in all of time &space like 112% of the time. Oh and the chapter title is a quote from the DW episode ‘Listen’ (8x04)

 

_Fear is like a companion. A constant companion, always there. But that's okay, because fear can bring us together. Fear can bring you home._

 

They are greeted by an icy pale blue-hued likeness to snow covering the grounds when the Doctor and Clara step out from inside the Tardis. Creamy (obviously) Earth-bought white lights dangle from the rooftop of the home the Doctor has been popping in and out of. Staying, but not quite living in yet. Going by the rather large decorated tree he spies blinking various colors from behind one of the front windows it would seem that he’s landed both he and Clara on another Christmas.

 

He should hate the holiday. His experience with the season as of late was not what one would call a happy one. However the prospect of this particular Christmas, spent in this specific setting, among this specific company? He finds this meeting more than welcomed and wholeheartedly awaits whatever is about to play out with open arms.

 

The Doctor practically itches with the possibilities of this meeting. What will he find behind those doors? _Who_? How old would they be? All the unknowns he could want await him inside that house, and how desperately he _craves_ collision with such endless amount of infinities….

 

Then he glimpses over at Clara.

 

The excitement in him wanes at the sight of her expression. Clara is frowning deeply and tears have gathered in her eyes, just a second away from spilling. He hadn’t realized just how _much_ he’d wanted to share this with her, this newly found and preserved happiness; his family. Scarcely able to wait for her own reactions to everyone and everything that resided here, too, in this place in the universe that stood tucked away and in waiting. Particles of both he and River that wander freely out in the universe. _Ours_ , his hearts all but proclaim, thudding with pride and love and fear and hope, alive against the cage-like building that houses both those hearts of his inside of his chest.

 

 

Sharing these lost pieces of himself with Clara, pieces have come back to him and multiplied tenfold? It really is all that has been missing.

 

“Hey,” he nudges his companion gently, his hand seeking out and closing around her own, squeezing. “You okay?”

 

Clara comes to and blinks up at him. She makes quick work of fixing her less than enthusiastic expression. A too large smile is on her face and she’s blinking back the tears rapidly.

 

“I’m fine.” She lies. “C’mon then, Time Lord.” She coaxes, dragging him along with her, starting in on a steady march through the not-exactly-snow snow, announcing, “Time to meet the fam.”

 

It feels like it takes several lifetimes when they finally stand face-to-face with the front door and Clara’s grip on his hand has turned vice-like. The Doctor is burdened remembering then, sickeningly, at _why_.

 

As he’d been recalling upon their landing, their most recent Christmas shared hadn’t been an overly pleasant experience. Odd alien face-suckers of death and Saint Nick himself. And _Danny Pink._

 

She had just lost everything and for a while there, within a puncture in time, they had finally matched. They’d aligned. They had nothing left to lose, the both of them. It was the beginning of endings, and they’d never run faster. But now he’s brought her along, at forefront, sticking her nose right into the sum of all that he’s miraculously gained back.

 

Clara had always proven to be particularly stubborn and willful in the face of his expectations, his Impossible Girl. Looking upon her now, he finds that he cannot do this to her. Not _now_. It’s not right. The timing is off and painfully… so painfully _cruel_. She needs time to heal, for him to help her heal, and he needs to give her that. This can wait. Either way, his family has somewhat been built on the waiting. They will forgive him for it, that he knows.

 

“Clar-” he attempts, but Clara’s already raised her fist and started banging on the front door before he can put a stop to it. Loud, insistent raps against the thick wooden surface, barking up a racket no one could claim ignorance of unless they were at a complete loss of hearing.

 

It is at that moment, filled with an overwhelming amount of panic, guilt that suffocates and cuts off any possible arguments he could have on the matter that the Doctor’s only option is to swallow them down, for the door is being unlocked and opened.  

 

His focus shifts to whomever it is, just on the other side, pulling the door back and ready to extend an invitation. To let both he and Clara inside, to join in their festivities. The Doctor goes cold all over when she is revealed.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

Blu spots her immediately. Her face and her curls are the same as the day he was born, only she’s young, and _he_ – this version of the Doctor – is even younger. It’s almost like a dream, or a nightmare. Depending on how one would look at it.

 

He is currently pressed flat against an opposing wall, sticking well into the corners and blending with the darkness, making it ever more impossible to count them all. To count the shadows. Still, it is her voice that calls to him, lulls his attention and gives him the illusion of safety. The voice that has always made him braver than he really is…. _Mother._

She’s standing far out of grasp with her back to him, explaining to this Anita woman, one of the others to accompany his mother on this expedition, on how she longs for _her_ Doctor to have been there. He shares the sentiment with her wanting wholly and wishes, too, that his father were there. For her, for him – both are ultimately one in the same, aren’t they? And he damns the universe. In forsaking them in either their past or their future, as they seem bound to be intricately joined at the root and yet despairingly separate once in bloom.

 

“Now my Doctor,” his mother describes, with such longing in her voice that Blu wants to step out and reveal himself. If only to gather his mother in his arms and tell her it’s alright. It’s all going to be alright, he’s here now and he won’t leave her. However it is his father’s voice ( _HIS_ father, the one with the stare and the eyebrows and the gray hairs) that springs to mind without effort. _Do as you’re told, Blu_ – the voice echoes, resonating so clearly in his mind that Blu almost believes his father to be there, right at his side, all the while knowing that he isn’t.

 

At this instance, Blu listens. He doesn’t move a muscle. He waits.  

 

“I've seen whole armies turn and run away.” The voice may sound even to anyone’s ears, but Blu hears the unspoken. Too much heart, so wondrous his mother sounds that not one soul can doubt her love for this man. For _their_ Doctor. “And he'd just swagger off,” she continues on, “back to his Tardis and open the doors with a snap of his fingers. The Doctor in the Tardis. Next stop, everywhere.”

 

“Spoilers!” The voice is sharp and reprimanding. So foreign the voice is that Blu slides even deeper into the darkness of the corner he’s chosen to shield him. “Nobody can open a Tardis by snapping their fingers.” Says the Doctor, this one that’s come upon his mother’s call. So young and unknowing. “It doesn't work like that.”

 

“It does for the Doctor,” River assures. Confident as ever despite the vulnerability she’s been caught upon indulging. It is a confidence that Blu recognizes, knowing what it means, and so he readies himself for whatever reply this younger Doctor is going to give, positive that his mother will have one at the ready also. A response that will, at any turn, best the Doctor’s own. It’s what she does, his mum.

 

“I am the Doctor!”

 

“Yeah,” quips River, adding: “Someday.”

 

Hidden away in his deathly shadowed corner, with the Vashta Nerada due to be on him any moment now, Blu indulges the surge of admiration he has for this woman. This not-yet mother of his. She is amazing.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

The child before him seems the exact replica, the Doctor muses to himself, and he wonders why he never saw it before or if he’d ignored it on purpose. His mouth twists unhappily in the face of such a confrontation. The ghost of a little girl he never had the chance at truly saving from the spaceman in Utah, peering up at the pair of uninvited guests. Then he notices the coloring. Jessie’s hair has taken a bit of Amy’s coloring, not Rory’s dirty blond. Her locks blend between a honeyed red, golden and orange; _brighter than sunflowers_ might just about cover it. The past melts away. He smirks.

 

“You made it!” his daughter exclaims happily, moving out from the doorway and throwing herself at the Doctor. Her strong wiry arms encircle his ribs and pull him close for a rather constricting hug. The Doctor, stunned, turns a wide-eyed glare over to Clara, who is traitorously biting her bottom lip in order to keep from laughing out right.

 

His young lass doesn’t relent however, so he pats her head a few times until Jessie releases him,  looking up and gifting at him River’s warm smile coming from her own childlike face. The smile proves too precious a sight. It warms the bleakness of the outside weather and thaws away at his reluctance to show any form of affection openly almost at an instant.

 

The Doctor smiles down at his daughter, Clara standing by as a witness be damned. His roughened fingertip traces the curve of Jessie’s nose quickly and the girl cackles, nose crinkling up in all her childish happiness. The likeness to her mother may be great, but there is also so much of one Amelia Pond in their own Jessica Williams that his voice wobbles when asking: “You’re mother in? Your brothers?” His hearts feel so full and heavy they could burst.

 

“Art is making ice castles out back and Blu’s not here, but Mummy’s making custard! Art loves custard, like you did once,” informs his little lass, taking hold of his hand and pulling him into the house. He glances back at Clara to make sure she’s following after them, she is.

 

Taking in this information bit by bit, the Doctor eventually tilts his head in direction to his companion. “Jessie,” he calls gently, “this is my friend Clara.”

 

Jessie sighs ever so indulgently, rolling her eyes at her father in a way that implies she’s been told who Clara is a thousand times over.  “Daddy,” says Jessie, “don’t be silly! We _know_ who Clara is.”

 

“Spoilers, Jessica dear.” River reprimands, a glorious sight when she appears from inside the kitchen. “Hello, husband.” She greets, “and Clara. Lovely to see you again.”

 

“River, hey.” Replies Clara, her big brown eyes scan over River as if processing that the woman is actually here, in front of them. Alive and well. “It’s been a while.”

 

“Indeed it has,” agrees the Wife. “And I see you’ve met our Jessica. She’s gotten a bad case of loose lips lately, haven’t you love?” River directs to the young girl. Jessie slightly reddens at her mother’s question.

 

The Doctor’s furry brows lift comically, making for his hairline. “Is this true, Jessica?”

 

Jessie shrugs half-heartedly, guilty only not truly regretful of her actions. “Blu says it doesn’t matter much,” the girl explains. “He says if things are supposed to happen, they’ll happen anyway, whether we do the right thing or not.”

 

Clara is genuinely startled when the Doctor turns on the spot and starts cursing abruptly, switching from English to what she can only assume is his own native Gallifreyan, as it sounds complete gibberish to her ears. He marches off and away from where they stand and Clara thinks she can hear footsteps on stairs. She turns her attention back to River, hoping for an explanation of any kind only Jessie’s mother is busy catching her daughter’s eye.

 

“Sweetheart,” states River gently. “You do know that when Blu says these things it is almost always in hopes to make your father furious, don’t you?”

 

Jessie nods solemnly, eyes downcast. River sends the girl on her way, out to help her brother with the ice castles.

 

“C’mon, Clara.” The Doctor barks out, inches away from her ear, and Clara jumps at his sudden proximity. His hand closes around her wrist and starts pulling at her like some sort of rag doll. Clara would smack him only she’s too busy stumbling over her own two feet.

 

“I’ll be back in a flash, dear,” the Doctor directs that to his Wife. “I must have a word with our son.”

 

“Happy Christmas!” River shouts after them, ducking back into the kitchen and not one bit bothered by the turn of events. As if nothing but the usual is taking place; the Doctor dragging Clara back to the Tardis, as though they hadn’t just arrived.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

Re-entering the kitchen, River grins at the sight of him. Older. Hair a fluffy white mess atop his head and still dressed in his bed clothes and his old man robe.

 

“They’re gone,” she states.

 

“I sounded very young.” Is all her husband offers, voice a soft rumble. He’s not yet fully awake, River knows. The Doctor is standing at the window with the view to the backyard, eyes fixed on Jessie and Art and their buildings of an ice castle saga. They’d nominated him acting the ice-warrior, out to destroy their castles, and they – the twin force – defenders of it.

 

River moves towards her husband and hugs him from behind, “You knew they’d be coming?”

 

The Doctor doesn’t answer, instead opting to sigh in mourning. He is absolutely dreading going out in the cold as his twins have demanded of him.

 

“Coffee?” River suggests.

 

“Unless you might want to kill me again,” he deadpans. “I’d be most gracious.”

 

River chuckles, “This from the Oncoming Storm. _Old Man_ Storm, more like.”

 

He grumbles about her cheek, but technically he doesn't disagree.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A hand settles on the Doctor’s shoulder and before he can be spooked to hell over it, he comes face to face with none other than his son. Blu Williams. Just a glance at his son and he knows it’s the Blu he’s been seeking out for months._ \- Clara's first visit(s) cont.  & silence in the Library. Eventually.

 

 

 

 

_Did you see why we came? Why we're here? (…) They have no power over you now. You can do exactly what you want to do now. Exactly what you've always wanted to do._

 

 

 

The Doctor lets go of Clara’s hand the second the Tardis doors come clamoring shut behind the pair of them. He’s off to hover over his console and pilot his ship to take flight. Clara pouts her discontent at leaving so abruptly and wanders over to his side, hoping to catch his eye for an explanation of sorts. She’s curious, only the Doctor is too focused on their journey onward to spare her a glance.

 

It’s at that very moment that Clara understands the gravity of this situation. Whatever it is, wherever he’s taking them, it is more important than he’s willing to admit. That, and he’s not sent her home. He needs her, she realizes. Clara wanders back, allowing him to get on with it and keeping herself at a good distance. She watches him closely yet she’s mindful not to draw his attention away from his task.

 

For the time being, alone with her thoughts, Clara reckons that she gets it. The tiny amount of time she had spent in the presence of the Doctor’s family, it had been a whirlwind and a half. From the second they had landed up until he’d gone and dragged her off, the setting had been abuzz with… what’s that word he used? Timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly? Yes, that was it. Timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly goodness. There was no helping being caught up in it all. To be held suspended in the glorious uncertainty of it, which left her curiosity in wanting.

 

If she can’t help wanting to jump into all of _that_ headfirst, then she can only imagine what it must be like for him. The Doctor, her best friend. The man who likes to play it crass and unfeeling, but she knows him. Knows enough to know that deep down, beneath the scowling and the attack eyebrows, he simply cannot help himself.

 

Besides, it’s all packaged there for him. The destination is existing, safe and preserved. He has only to run to and from. It’s infinite and it’s _there_ , so long as the Doctor knows the way home. Because that’s what it is at the end of the day. _Home_. He may not have planned for it nor did he expect for it to manifest in such a way, but it is wholly and undoubtedly _his._ It’s what he has been searching for and whether the Doctor chooses to acknowledge it in his hearts yet or not, well… Clara decides that part is completely irrelevant.

 

Perhaps it’s her job to help him come to grips with that. She’ll knock some sense into him alight. She’ll guide him there herself if it’s the last thing she does. Smiling, Clara finds she’d take that responsibility on in a heartbeat, as she rather likes the idea of it. Of the Doctor having a home of his own. He deserves one more than anyone.

 

“Now, Old Girl,” she overhears the Doctor address his ship. “I think it’s time for a one-way trip, and no side stops.”

 

Clara holds her breath, watching on in trepidation and a bubbling excitement as The Doctor’s fingertips disappear into the telepathic circuits. The Tardis lights above and around the inside walls start to burst. They spark outward like angry fireworks. Harsh and alive, dimming out slowly. Quietly. As if the energy is slipping out and away right in front of her eyes. The likeness reminds her much of dying stars.

 

Once the Tardis takes choice of their next destination, the ship jolts in sudden motion. Clara only just manages to reach out and grasp at the railings in order to stay standing upright.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

There is a final jerky stillness signaling they've stopped though the console room has gone pitch dark, like the power’s been sucked out somehow.

 

“We’ve landed,” Clara hears the Doctor say. Movement, which she assumes is him.

 

“Doctor?” she calls out, not feeling safe enough to let go of the railing or wander about either. “Where exactly are we?”

 

“No idea,” comes the Doctor’s response. He sounds closer than he was before and Clara can hear his footsteps, heavy and unsure. “The power inside the Tardis had been burnt out,” she hears him pulls at levers and press at buttons to no avail. “By something, or rather some _where_.” He explains, sounding unreasonably giddy to her ears. “I’m going to take a look.” He announces. “Stay here.”

She nods in the darkness, only to remember that the Doctor can’t actually see her. Confirming his orders aloud Clara receives an encouraging pat on her shoulder for it. She wants to reach out, to grab at him, but she senses he’s gone from her side now. Dim light spills inside the Tardis when the Doctor unlocks the front doors and pulls them open. The light frames his face, though Clara can hardly read his expression from this angle. The Doctor, as if sensing her attention, looks back at her. He nods before stepping out and darkness surrounds her once again.

 

The first thing that pops up is fear, which she knows to be absolutely ridiculous. Clara knows deep down in her heart that she has nothing to fear from inside the safety of the Doctor’s blue box but that doesn’t make her any less scared. Slowly, Clara gathers her courage and takes itty-bitty steps in the direction she assumes will lead her to the console board. It is not as easy as one would hope. Not in the dark.

 

She stands alone in the Tardis yet there is a chill permeating the room that sparks doubt, leaving Clara feeling the exact opposite of the word. Reaching her hands out in front of her, heart in her throat, Clara’s movements become faster, unsteady and panicky. She slips, falls, and the shiny hard floor comes up to slap her. She shivers uncontrollably and shuts her eyes, taking deep steadying breaths. Reminding herself that she has nothing to fear.

 

It helps little.

 

It takes more time than she’d like to admit to gather herself together and longer it seems for the fear to subside. Eventually Clara feels her way around on her hands and knees. Finally she makes out what could be the actual console. Gripping at the edges to pull herself up and onto her knees. The tip of Clara’s fingers accidentally slip into what she later surmises to have been the telepathic circuits.

 

 _Oops_.

 

The inside of the Tardis jolts back to life, lights flickering madly all around her.

 

The Old Girl takes off.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

There is no familiar wheeze and groan, but the Doctor can _feel_ it.

 

The Tardis has gone and Clara along with it. Perhaps it’s for the best because here he stands, far from alone and in the worst of ways. Frozen in a space of time that he has deemed _Forbidden_. There is nothing for him here, nothing but books and shadows and death.

 

He hears shouting in the distance. It is a nightmare of a conversation he has already lived through. One he’s wished every single day of his lives since to forget.

 

It’s River. She arguing with his younger self. The young, pinstripe one. The one who hadn’t know her. The one who had to watch her die.

 

 _She is going to die_ , the thought settles, his limbs suddenly numb with dread. The Shadows no doubt surrounding him become so unimportant because, then: _she’ll never be anything but dead here._  

 

He feels helpless, utterly and completely without choice. Why did he come here? Why did the Tardis bring him here? Lingering between a River who shouts a younger self that doesn’t know her, with nothing to show for it but a fixed ending. _Why_?

 

A hand settles on the Doctor’s shoulder and before he can be spooked to hell over it, he comes face to face with none other than his son. Blu Williams. Just a glance at his son and he knows it’s the Blu he’s been seeking out for months. All this time he’s spent up and down across the universe searching for him, this boy of his, and Blu has been in the Library, lingering with ghosts of parents who have no notion of him yet. The Doctor strangely finds he is utterly unsurprised by this.

 

“I told you to go!”

 

They both turn their heads in the direction of the Younger Version’s shout.

 

“Lux can manage without me,” comes River’s reply, voice a tremor in the distance. “But you can't.”

 

There are four things moving, two at each of Blu’s side, but before the Doctor can order Blu to run his son’s fist comes up out of nowhere.

 

Hard and limp, the Doctor goes. He collapses forwards into Blu’s already awaiting arms, swaying towards unconsciousness at a terrifying speed.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

Upon landing, the Tardis interior lights blink an angry red at Clara, almost admonishing. Not willing to give the Doctor’s ship another chance to take off or something worse, she hurries toward the doors and pulls them open, practically throwing herself out of the crazed box.

 

The Tardis doors shut at her heels and Clara imagines an annoyed huff being let out from behind her. Clara turns around and notices steam being let out from the top corners of the doors. Worriedly, she reaches out to push the blue doors open only to receive a nasty burn for her efforts.

 

“Oh, _fine_!” she shouts at the box. “Suit yourself then, I’m done with you until you are back under control!”

 

There is no definite answer but Clara gets a feeling the Doctor’s box is gloating at her predicament. Turning away Clara hopes for some tell of where the Doctor’s Tardis has landed. It’s a forest. Sort of. The trees are a soft brown, almost caramel colored but transparent, like glass. The leaves are even more-so, they glisten in the moonlight.

 

Moonlight. It’s evening here, wherever she is. Clara turns her head in every which direction, seeking out a sign of life. Eventually she looks back at the Tardis, raising a brow.

 

“Feeling charitable?” she asks. “Nah, didn’t think so.”

 

She hears a sound. Something cracking. Like a twig being snapped beneath someone’s shoe. Knowing she has no idea whether this stranger is a threat or not, she really has little else choice of getting anywhere without their help.

 

“Hello?” she offers aloud as a greeting. “I’m a bit lost and my er- my vehicle is being a bit…” she glances back over at the Tardis, smirking, “psychotic.”

 

The Tardis emits a tiny whine along with the steam.

 

 _Serves you right,_ Clara thinks. _You’ve been no help at all._

 

“Who are you?” The question comes from a tiny voice, one could assume a child. Clara whips her head around to look for a face but finds no one.

 

“I’m Clara.” She answers their question. “Mind showing yourself? Unless it’s the trees who are talking, I mean… unless it is the trees.” Her back straightens as she glances at the trees nearest to her, suddenly attentive. “It wouldn’t be the first time, actually,” she mutters to herself with a fond shake of her head.

 

“What’s wrong with her?”

 

Clara grins, not quite understanding the question. “I’m sorry? With who?”

 

“Sexy,” comes the answer and the Tardis whines louder. “See.” And a boy drops down from the trees a mere step away from where Clara is standing. She lets an undignified yelp out for it.

 

“She’s annoyed.” The boy explains, walking over and setting a hand on the blue box. Stroking it.

 

The boy is nearly at Clara’s shoulder height, which is not very tall at all admittedly. He’s got dark black hair, or at least it looks black upon the moonlight.

 

“What did you do to her?” he turns his head to look at her and Clara’s heart stills. His stare is intensely curious and, if she can read him right, terribly amused.

 

“She,” Clara starts to blame but stops herself. “Hold on a second, you’re telling me you can hear her?”

 

The boy does not answer directly, instead he says, “She can overreact with strays. Which you obviously are,” he gives the Tardis a pat and starts to walk away, further into the forest.

 

Clara stays rooted on the spot.

 

The boy turns, huffs – every bit a teenage know-it-all. “Are you coming or not?”

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

_Blu. Run. Run, just run. Your mother – no, just run. Run. You must. Just run._

The Doctor has the taste of blood in his mouth, eyesight bleary and feeling weak-boned. Through the haze the eyes staring down at him were unmistakable. Bright and known, stubborn and relentless.

 

“Blu,” he calls out, hand reaching for his son and trying to sit up. Blu’s hand comes down firm on his shoulder, easing him back and ordering him to rest for a bit. The Doctor did so only because he was slightly off balance and his thoughts all a jumble.

 

Then it all comes back.

 

“Run!” The Doctor shouts, upright in an instant.

 

“Your eyes are starting to resemble a certain someone. You better get them under control,” quipped Blu offhandedly. Not in the least bit as worried as he should be.

 

“Blu, what are you doing here? No, no, shut up.” The Doctor covers his eyes with both hands and tries to get some semblance of a thought process going. “No, _run_! Yes, we must run. Now. I don’t care why you are here, we need to go.”

 

“Nonsense, father.” Blu smiled wickedly and raps his knuckles against the seemingly solid metal wall. That, the Doctor had not noticed. It clink-clangs at Blu’s touch. “Shadows can’t register life in a seemingly lifeless shell,” Blu informs him.

 

The Doctor reassessed the room. Indeed they could no longer be in a Library full of flesh eating monsters any longer, but – no. No, he remembered this. He’s been here before.

 

Then comes the terrible ache in his jaw. His hand cups his jaw reflexively and his eyes widen. Turning to glare at Blu, he remembers…. “You _hit_ me!”

 

Blu shrugs off the accusation, eyes trained on something the Doctor can’t see. “Hard day.” He explains, “You’ve been treating mum so poorly today and I have been accused before of judging things a bit rashly from time to time. Your words, by the way.”

 

The Doctor works his jaw painfully, coming to stand beside his son. He sees then what Blu is looking at, or rather, looking out at.

 

“Did you borrow it?” The Doctor wonders, eyeing the make-up of this teselecta Blu has stashed them away inside.

 

“No, I stole it red-handed,” Blu admits, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve no intention of giving it back,” he jokes, “unlike some other travelers.”

 

The Doctor shouldn’t smile, he knows, only this one is short lived because River comes into sight. He can spy the younger version of him passed out cold, nothing but a heap on the floor.

 

“She punches like her father, your mum,” the Doctor comments, remembering that particular fact. “He was a Centurion you know.”

 

Blu grins tightly, “I know who my grandfather was, dad.”

 

“What are you planning, Blu?”

 

The Doctor’s son huffs, unimpressed. “I’m not planning,” Blu tells him. “I’m doing. Now, are you helping or not? Because I cannot have any distractions and that happens to be your M.O.”

 

The Doctor is quite unsettled by this. Not knowing the inside of this thing for starters, as this teselecta has obviously been customized to suit whatever it is needed for. Two, not knowing the inside work of Blu’s plan. He is then distracted by River as she comes into sight. She’s painfully real and outside the teselecta, still unsafe in the Library. Crying freely as she busies herself connecting wires to her death chair while the younger version of him lays useless and unconscious on the floor.

 

The past hangs heavier than it had back then and now, long-carried as it is, it still burns as bright as the first time ‘round.  It overwhelms him. Being back in the Library, with a different face or no, it all comes rushing back. Whether he’d managed to save her or not is not the point, he is here _now_ and it was the Tardis who stranded him here so he can’t simply stand by and leave it be. He can’t just let her die. Not again.   

 

“I can do it without you, of course.” Blu’s voice tugs him back, back from the shadows of his own thoughts. “I have volunteers.”

 

The Doctor takes a glance at his eldest. All speech and bravado. Blu is his mother and father rolled into one. And his obvious bluffing fools no one, least of all the Doctor. The Tardis had stranded him here at this particular time. It is no stretch to conclude that Blu needs him there for whatever is to happen.

 

Blu’s body shifts slightly to the right, eyes trailing off towards the second entrance where footsteps are heard approaching. “Speaking of volunteers,” Blu utters, glancing at his father and fleeing his gaze just as quickly.

 

“Howdy, partner. It’s been a while.”

 

The Doctor tries hard not to scowl at Jack Harkness once fully revealed, but the Captain is all smiles and so he scowls anyway.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer died so now I have to come over to my mom's and use the "Family Computer." Sad stuff, let me tell you. Anyhow that explains the long-time waiting for this to be updated. Okay, back to business....
> 
> The quote used in the beginning of this part is from the fifth episode in series 8 which I believe is called 'Time Heist.' Enjoy and all that jazz. 
> 
> Till next time folks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The chair is similar to the one River will climb into any second now only there are three in front of the Doctor. They are aligned all in a row from one side of the room to another, rusted a bit, all hard angles and steel._

 

 

 

_You have one chance in a thousand. But one is all you ever need._

 

 

The boy led Clara through the crystalized forest, which glistened prettily at their every step. He chose to remain silent throughout most of their journey and at first she was sure he was leading her further into the trees only there came a clearing in sight, where she could see the trees start to part, revealing a house standing off out in the distance. 

 

The closer they got the shadow of a house disappeared and the more familiar it became. The shape no longer only resembled a black blob image in the night, but outlines of windows and stairs on the back porch started to come into view. It was the Doctor’s home, but it was different. It seemed quiet and, dare she say it, lonely. She focuses back on boy and then the house, and the recollection of earlier events occur to her. The following pieces of the puzzle show themselves and fit together instantaneously under her speculation.

 

They approached the backyard area which Clara can plainly see is surrounded by some sort of force field, however transparent it may appear. She decides asking now is preferable than questioning the boy while they’re busy defusing the lock and key, so to speak.

 

“So, you must be Blu,” she states quietly. The boy, Blu, falters in his steps but straightens himself quickly. He trudges on willfully, reluctant to let her know she’s caught him off guard in any way. Clara smirks, somehow pleased at having surprised him with her cleverness. “You are, aren’t you? You’re the Doctor’s son?”

 

Blu doesn’t reply automatically but when he does there is no ignoring the distaste in his tone over said subject. “No,” he says.

 

“No?” parrots Clara. Why would he be lying? It all adds up.

 

“No, I’m not _only_ the Doctor’s son.” The boy clarifies, “I have a mother as well.”

 

Clara grins. She can work with this. Grumpy teenagers. It’s her day job. “No, of course. You’re right. River Song,” she hurries her step to keep in stride with him, side to side. Equals. “We go back, too. Old mates, me and your mum. Now, before we go a step further I’d like to know: how are we defusing the force field?”

 

Blu doesn’t stop but he does turn to look at her, astonished and wide-eyed. “How do you know about that?” he demands, a touch accusatory.

 

Clara scoffs, bumping her shoulder into his and leveling him with a knowing gaze. “Professor River Song and the Doctor are basically legends and there are enemies all throughout the cosmos who would readily use this place as a battlefield if the secret got out. Your parents are smarter than that, cleverer than all their enemies combined. Are you seriously going to look me in the eye and tell me this place isn’t _protected_?”

 

Grinning widely, Clara walks the final steps towards the ratio contained by the force field. It glistens slightly, if one knows what to look for that is. The ground is bare still. Untouched – much like the house. _New_. There is no earth-grown grass or flowers to hide it and so Clara spots the disruption on the surface easily. That, and the imprint of a boot mark. Clara shovels over the dirt-like substance with her own shoe and sees the tiny tells of a square shaped coding device hidden beneath it. She recognizes it only because it’s so similar to a passcode key on an android ship she and the Doctor had infiltrated about a year ago.

 

“What brand of pudding brain do you boys take me for?” She mutters, more to herself than to Blu. She kneels down to study the device and dust more of it off. Knowing the Doctor, she assumes it’s been tweaked since purchased. Made better somehow. She spots a small button on the bottom right-hand corner, easily dismissible to the eye especially in the dark. She pushes it. The device comes alive in the night air, glowing in the darkness and shooting upwards. The square device that is located on the ground now serves as a hologram image right at her eyesight, detailed and in waiting. Clara turns and gestures at Blu, “Go on then.”

 

Hesitantly, Blu steps forwards and presses his hand up against the hologram image. The outline of his hand turns red and Blu steps away, five fingerprints stay suspended in the air until the hologram slowly clears, disappearing back into the ground and revealing a large tree that shoots up into the sky. There are stairs intricately built into the twists and turns of the tree, heading up and up and up.

 

Clara can hardly contain herself, declaring, “I’ve always loved a good climb in the dead of night.” She start up on the stairs, throwing a look back at Blu, “And eyes front, soldier.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” comes the slightly more respectful, if not downright _impressed_ , reply.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

The Doctor demanded answers without actually demanding them, knowing Blu was loathe to give all of the important pieces up without a fight. So Blu explained, time running against them at every tick, and the Doctor listened to his son explain. He juggled every piece of information given, weighing them against every possible flaw and misstep. Looking for the sum of the plan that would be most logical, or even more dangerous: the one most wished.

 

The Doctor knew his son enough to know the boy, though a man grown now, was all heart. If his mother was going to die Blu was not the type to let such a thing happen without a fight. Not even in a library full of Vashta Nerada with the future very much depending on the past playing out just so.

 

“And so we’ll snatch her up, big save the day ending,” Captain Jack explained with a smile, “and we all go home.”

 

“Is that so?” the Doctor replied, keeping his eyes trained on River whom was still outside of the tesselecta. Unprotected and scared. In fact, she was already set to climb into her death chair. She’d done good work with the wiring, nothing shy of perfection.

 

“It is.” Jack confirmed his question.

 

The conversation taking place was taking time no one had, least of all River. The Doctor can practically smell the nerves coming off of Jack and Blu. They sit as a unit, unsettled and unsure, both waiting on _him_ to be the one to stall. This is a test. They are trying to work out what side he is on, where he would tip on the scale. A game. But no one plays games with the Doctor. Surely not when concerning _her_ because of all the times he has not been allowed the option, eventually, when the hour arises, he’ll chose her. Always and completely. He had not Rule One’d that. Never that.

 

“You know,” the Doctor smirked, reaching into his top pocket with one swift movement, “it’s all a very happy ending picture, Captain, but life rarely works out so prettily.”

 

The Doctor aims his sonic, one thought in mind: _destroy_.

 

The wires connecting to the back of the chair let out a spark and River shouts in dismay. Thankfully, the younger version of him was out cold or there could have been a so much explaining to do.

 

The Doctor catches Jack and Blu as they share a glance of relief, their shoulders setting and smiles turning genuine.

 

“Got any suggestions, old man?” Blu proses.

 

He seemed far too superior for the Doctor’s taste. As did the Captain at his son’s side. Oh, he really was getting too old for this sort of nonsense.

 

“You brought me here,” accused the Doctor though not angrily. Or not entirely. Yet. “Both of you. Didn’t you?” Neither denied. “Blu, you probably enlisted the Tardis to help. Shame on her. Captain, you’re up to no good on a daily basis. That’s self-explanatory,” And Jack had the audacity to smile widely, causing the Doctor’s own lips to upturn in reflex.

 

The Doctor turned abruptly, tossing his sonic up in the air and catching it, pacing. “It’s going to take her at least thirty minutes to fix that,” he gestured outside the tesselecta, over to where River was now furiously working at the burnt up wires with her own sonic. “A regular being would be an hour, at most two, but she’s just too good. My wife.” The Doctor allowed the smugness a moment. “Captain,” he called Jack to attention.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“It won’t work,” the Doctor said plainly. “Not you by yourself, anyway.” Blu and Jack did not hurry to dispute so they must already know it to be factual, too. That saved time indeed however it did pose a problem. The ultimate problem, because that meant this was not going to work. And Blu… his son has mucked about in timelines on a whim built out of hopes and wishes and the best outcome. Had he really not taught his son better than that?

 

 “If you were not a hundred percent sure, Blu,” the Doctor starts, quelling his anger. Trying to. “Meddling with time on less than a hundred percent, you can’t just _do_ what you want because you want to!”

 

“Oh, please, do spare me a lecture,” Blu snapped. Anger and hostility and _blame_. “I did the math, father. I’m not some child to rule over all of time on a… a child’s fancy to play the hero. I’m not a hero, that’s you. Mother even told you but you don’t listen, do you? Who got her out of the Library, hmm? Do you remember what she said? Because I sure do.”

 

The Doctor blinks, remembering the conversation. The first time he’d stumbled upon River and his granddaughter and Blu and all of the rest of it. Christmas.

 

 He remembers her voice, River’s, strained and (though evasive as possible) admitting that Blu had gotten her out.No, but that wasn’t all.The most valuable spoilers came later, safe in her arms and rushed. “ _Long story short, you were with him when you got me out, both of you. Both my boys.”_

 

“Cut from the same cloth,” the Doctor recalls suddenly.

 

“Just a tiny bit better than you,” finishes Blu.

 

“Where do need me?”

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

“This is amazing!” exclaims Clara, wandering about the tiny transport area the stairs have led them to. The stairs and the tree have disappeared and they are traveling somehow. She just knows it. It’s the feel in the air and it’s delightful. Blu watches at her side with poorly concealed amusement.

 

“What is this exactly? I mean, it’s not actually a tree,” she states. “That was just for show. Besides, the trees on this planet look like gorgeous glass sculptures, carved and made for sell. The kind my Gran buys on the telly for decoration. The tree we climbed looks like a regular earth grown one, so how is that?”

 

Blu once again hesitates. She can see him processing whether to answer her. On one hand it looks like he wants to tell her everything, itching to spill the details over every nook, every cranny. On the other… well. She’s virtually a stranger, isn’t she?

 

“Hey,” Clara calls softly. “It’s okay. You don’t really have to tell me. I was just curious is all. I do that. Your dad can vouch for it, truly. Just ask.” The boy exhales shakily, nodding his thanks. “How about we get you right on home and then we figure this whole thing out,” Clara suggests. “Your mother must be worried sick.”

“No,” Blu shakes his head fondly. Smiling for the first time in their entire encounter. “Somehow, no matter what I’m doing or where I am, she always knows.”

 

Clara laughs heartily, “That’s a mum for you. Still, it’d ease her mind to have you back. Safe and sound.”

 

Blu does not disagree.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

The chair is similar to the one River will climb into any second now only there are three in front of the Doctor. They are aligned all in a row from one side of the room to another, rusted a bit, all hard angles and steel.

 

The Doctor sneaks himself behind said chairs and finds all sorts of wires connected to the back of the chairs, wires awaiting its occupants. He raises his eyes to catch his son’s. “So, which is mine?”

 

“The one on the left,” answers Blu automatically. “Most humans, their heart is located right around the middle area of their chest. Some have it tilted to the left side of the body, or a bit on the right. Varies. Mum’s is slightly to the left. I figured it would be a touch poetic.”

 

The Doctor scoffs, smiling a little. “Never took you for the romantic sort.”

 

Blu returns his amusement. “Neither did I.”

 

“I’ll be on the right,” Jack offers up, clearing his throat. “You’ll need a battery of life, to put it plainly, and-”

 

“You can’t die,” the Doctor concludes.

 

“Precisely.” Confirmed Jack. “I’ll be death and you… you will be life.”

 

“Unlike mum’s first go at it, you know how to control distributing regeneration energy.” Blu explains eagerly, “I’m more than just a hundred percent positive you can sustain the right amount during the transfer.”

 

The Doctor’s eye linger on the middle chair.

 

“That’s a receiver,” Blu names for him. “I’ve constructed a very specific code in the tesselecta to act as a homing vessel for when…” he hesitates. “For when she has to burn into the hard drive.”

 

“So she’ll still be,” but the Doctor couldn’t finish the sentence, let alone the thought.

 

“A part of her has to be uploaded into the hard drive of the computer,” Blu confirmed solemnly. “The future depends on certain legitimacies, after all.”

 

The Doctor nods. River’s Data-Ghost able to appear in Trenzalore finally taking some form of explanation.

 

“Once you’re plugged in the tesselecta will upload your DNA. My likeness will fade away and it will take yours. Your job is to distract her while we transfer her into the tesselecta, persuade her to play it all out as you remember. Which might mean wiping some of her memory. The tesselecta will then take her place, burning what it needs to from her whil-”

 

“No,” the Doctor says abruptly, cutting Blu off with the shake of his head. “That won’t do.”

 

“Have you changed your mind?” puzzles Jack.  

 

“No, the tesselecta cannot turn into me.” The Doctor watches his son and Blu is quick to anger. The boy doesn’t understand. How could he? “She doesn’t know me,” the Doctor stresses to point out.

 

“She’s _mum_ ,” Blu argues. “She always knows you!”

                                                                     

“Missing the point, Blu,” the Doctor admonishes gruffly, trying desperately not to lose his temper. It will serve no purpose. “Think about it! She’s ready to die, she’s made her peace.”

 

“Are you seriously saying you’re going to let my mother _die_?!” bellows his son.

 

“That is not what I said!” the Doctor shouts back in equal measure. “Pay attention!”

 

“She needs someone she knows.” Jack proposes, his voice calm and calculating, quick to catch what the Doctor is trying to say. “She needs the You she knows. The one she married. That’s what you mean.”

 

“Exactly,” utters the Doctor. Not quite able to look his son in the eye. “Fix the code, Blu. When you plug me in, the tesselecta has to turn into Bowtie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning of the chapter is a quote from the series 9 opener "The Magician's Apprentice"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He starts to run. Not from River but towards her and towards them. Readying to throw himself right into the thick of it. The ending. Because fear is a superpower and he’s had years of arming himself._ \- Love is just full of promises ;)

 

 

_This is a promise. The promise of a soldier. (You will sleep safe tonight.)_

 

Blu leads Clara through what appears to be a doorway only once on the other side she realizes it’s a large kitchen cabinet built into the wall. Pushing it back into place Clara spies the shelves, lined with cans and crisps, is split down the middle and they close much like a door would. The cabinet, once arranged side by side properly, shoves itself inward and further into the wall. Finally, Blu closes the shelved cabinet and it fits it perfectly with the rest of the kitchen area. There’s no indication that anything in this kitchen is the slightest bit out of the ordinary.

 

“Brilliant,” exhales Clara, wide eyes raking over the rest of the kitchen curiously. Pitch dark as the room is it takes a minute or two for her eyes to adjust.

 

“Why thank you Clara Oswald,” a gruff voice calls out in the darkness. The outline of a body sitting at the kitchen table moves to stand and Clara’s breath catches.

 

She smiles, relief flooding over her, “Doctor.”

 

“Up to bed now, Blu,” the Doctor tells his son. “You know better than to be out at this hour.”

 

Blu ducks his head in acknowledgment and does as he is told, leaving both Clara and the Doctor alone in the kitchen.

 

“Join me for a spot of tea?” the Doctor offers before slipping back into his chair.

 

“Of course,” Clara blinks, dreadfully unsure of navigating her surroundings in this unknown place in the dark. As if reading her mind, a tiny green light goes off and Clara hears the familiar sound of the sonic screwdriver. The kitchen lights up in seconds. Grateful, Clara dashes over to the table where the Doctor sits and drops into the seat across from him, eager to look upon him after all that has happened.

 

The Doctor pushes over a cup filled with newly made tea, still steaming and hot to the touch. Clara thanks him and blows at the cup before taking a cautious sip. Her eyes latch onto the Doctor next. He’s there, finally, sitting in front of her. She could reach out and touch him if she wished, just to make sure that he’s real and doesn’t disperse at the slightest disruption. She doesn’t.

 

 The Doctor is wearing a thick fluffy robe over the thin cotton t-shirt he has on, years old by the looks of it and of the color a deep red. His hair is no longer speckled with grays and has turned a stark white. A puffy, curly delight right atop his head. It strikes a shining contrast against the red garment he wears. He’s fashioning a good bit of stubble on his chin, like he’s got other things to worry about than to keep his face clean-shaven. His face is lined with time, the creases and wrinkles etched deeper onto this face that she now knows so well. His eyes….

 

Oh, but those eyes. They are still the same. Ancient and kind, but a bit more weighted with all he has lived and seen. Older yes, but _content_. So very calm and steady are those orbs that it ceases the worries in her, worries she didn’t know she carried.

 

Clara knows she’s staring and that the Doctor is openly letting her, gauging her own reaction with a fondness that has her smiling like a loon.

 

“Worked it out yet, Clara?” he asks. Taking a sip from his own teacup to hide his very own telling grin.

 

“How old are you?” she blurts, shaking her head and laughing at her complete lack of tact. “I mean-”

 

“I know what you mean,” says the Doctor softly, setting his tea down and yawning.

 

“Oh, my god.” Clara gapes at him. “That was a yawn! Are you actually tired? Are you really… did I wake you up? Is that why you’re yawning? I thought you never slept!”

 

The Doctor rolls his eyes, “Please do relax, Clara. So I shut my eyes for an hour or two these days, big deal. It turns out raising a child is hardly as easy as my day job.”

 

Clara snorts, “Your day job? As in saving the universe from collapsing into the void of blah, blah, blah and aliens and etcetera, etcetera?”

 

“Yes, in fact,” the Doctor tries to stifle down another yawn, glaring at Clara so she knows to keep her smart remarks to herself “He’s a bloody handful,” he confesses about Blu, frowning deeply. “He’s brilliant and clever and curious, Clara! _So_ curious. He does things because he wants to _know_. The intrigue in that one,” the Doctor shakes his head worryingly, his hands clasping together to stop them from shaking. A fear for the future it seems. “Blu doesn’t even care if anyone’s done it before him or if it’s taken into account already. He wants to be the one to experience things for himself. I can only imagine what trouble he’ll get up to when he doesn’t have to listen to me anymore. I’ve basically become Enemy Number 1 in his eyes, do you know that?”

 

“Oh, come off it,” Clara dismisses the notion with a wave of her hand, because it _is_ a ridiculous concept. “I hardly believe your son thinks of you like that. Albeit you can be a bit crabby at times.” She gets an eyebrow for that.

 

“Crabby, am I?”

 

“A bit,” she allows, laughing softly. “Not all the time. You just go all Scot and we innocents have to deal with it. Looking at him, he seems to be going into teenage years and that’s no fun, not for any parent. But no matter what he does or what he says a child needs his father,” Clara reaches out to lay her hand on the Doctor’s, squeezing gently once before pulling back. “Blu will always need you, Doctor,” she insists. “You just have to learn not to take it too personal, yeah? All parents go through it.”

 

The Doctor’s lips curl into a warm smile, “You really are a mighty fine teacher, Clara Oswald.”

 

“Just catching up with that are you?” Clara sips happily.

 

They enjoy the rest of their tea in a semi-comfortable silence, a smile here, a roll of eyes there. The Doctor sighs heavily once both cups are empty and says, “Thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

The Doctor does not answer her, swiping her teacup from her hands and standing. “As exciting as this has been, I do believe it is time you go where you ought to be. Much is waiting for you there, Clara. Me mostly, and I’m going to need your help.”

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

The Doctor opens his eyes and despite knowing where he was physically (strapped into the chair of Blu’s invention) he sees darkness. He glimpses shadows moving in every corner. Trapped inside the Library once again. 

 

With a jolt of anxiety, everything discussed prior to his current state comes forth instantaneously. He works out where he is and where he is expected to be. It’s not a long distance but he figures he has one chance so he best not spend it on a catchphrase.

 

He starts to run. Not from River but towards her and towards them. Readying to throw himself right into the thick of it. The ending.

 

Because fear _is_ a superpower and he’s had years of arming himself.

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

“Hello, dear.”

 

The endearment, spoken with _that_ voice, comes from behind her.

 

Professor River Song shuts her eyes tightly, willing the memory of him away. With a steadying breath she forces herself to blatantly ignore the sentimental nature of her brain for conjuring the voice of Her Doctor, because if she’s concentrating on his voice instead of the work in front of her it won’t do. Oh, but he sounded so real. If only….

 

 _No_. She can’t allow herself to get muddled with the past. It is done and over, they are done and over. This is it. This is her last stop, she will be brave. She has no other choice in the matter, or at least no other choice she would choose to indulge in. River must maintain focus on readying the wires onto the chair for the cleanest download into the hard drive, if that’s even possible. But that doesn’t matter. No, there are those who need saving. Innocent lives. She has to try. But now her hands are shaking and her eyes are glazing over with unshed tears.

 

The silent Library only echoes her tiny whimpers back to her as she tries and is unable to hold back the sobs she’s been holding in for hours. Her broken resolve magnified in the darkness.

 

Arms surround her and pull her closer, fingers she knows the feel of all too well tangle in her hair.

 

“River,” he whispers her name softly and she shudders in his arms, still afraid to glimpse at him. Afraid. _So_ afraid he’ll disappear at the slightest disruption of reality. Her Doctor.

 

“It’s alright,” he comforts. “I’m here, I’m not leaving you here. Open your eyes.”

 

“I can’t,” she shakes her head miserably. “I can’t.” And she reaches out, searching. Her hand closes around a bowtie and she exhales with such a splendid relief that her eyes end up fluttering open on instinct.

 

He’s there. He’s really there. She cups his abnormally shaped chin and brushes back the ridiculous flop of fringe that’s always falling in his face.

 

“Hello, sweetie,” she says uneasily. The day had tested her own endearments for him.

 

“I know I’m late, dear.” The smile on his face full of warmth and recognition, so unlike the one she’d been dealing with all day. It makes her breath catch and new tears fall, tears of gratitude and love. So much love. “You know all about how traffic can be these days,” he tells her.

 

“Hell?” she offers and her Dear Husband nods.

 

“He’ll be waking up soon.” He cups both her cheeks gently and forces her attention to be on him and only him. “We are going to fix up this chair and when we are done I am going to help you climb into it. No, no,” he shook his head at her questions. “Not here, no time to explain. You trust me, don’t you? Good, then just listen. You have to make him believe this is the end, River. Every frustration you’ve had of today, every frustration you have with _me_ , because I am the same man and I did this to you, you lay it down for both of us to hear. All of it. No more hiding the damage, River.” Her Doctor moved forward to press a kiss to her hairline. “And don’t you be scared, River. I’m going to be watching the entire time.”

 

The Doctor helps her finish up the final work on the chair and they work in silence. She keeps stealing glances at him and he only smiles back at her. Once finished, he helps her climb up as if it were a throne, connecting the last of the wires once she’s sat snuggly. He adds what appears to be tiny square computer chip to the back of the chair that she _knows_ is not part of the main construction piece.

 

“You are going to be fine,” he promises and then moves forward as if he can't help himself, kissing her quickly. “I love you so very much,” he whispers.

 

River stares stunned as the Doctor, her Doctor, retreats into the darkness of the Library. 

 

 

✯✯✯

 

 

He watches it play out, the whole bloody saga. At front seat he stands, hidden away where his younger self can’t see him, but River can.

 

“Funny thing is, this means you've always known how I was going to die.”

 

It may for all intents and purposes look like she’s maintaining skittish eye contact with the Doctor who’s handcuffed, only River Song is a seasoned liar and she’s glorious in her part. Glorious and utterly heartbroken, eyes flitting from his younger self and back to him.

 

“All the time we've been together, you knew I was coming here.”

 

All her words and all her tears, all her hurts – they’re all for him. He did that. He knows that, and so he’ll take River bearing her heartstrings for him with open arms. He’s more than deserving of facing that damage, of taking blame for his part. She is his wife and he had made a promise after all.

 

“The last time I saw you, the real you, the _future_ you, I mean, you turned up on my doorstep, with a new haircut and a suit. You took me to Darillium to see the Singing Towers. What a night that was. The Towers sang, and you cried. You wouldn't tell me why, but I suppose you knew it was time. My time. Time to come to the library. You even gave me your screwdriver. That should have been a clue.”

 

The Doctor watches his younger self listen to River, hanging on her every word. Uncomprehending yet desperate, reaching out for the screwdriver she speaks of.

 

Even way back then he couldn’t stop the overwhelming urge to save her.

 

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“You can let me do this!”

 

“If you die here, it’ll mean I’ve never met you!” River argues back at his younger self, as if he is a particularly thick brand of Doctor.

 

“Time can be rewritten!”

 

“Not those times. Not one line. Don't you _dare_.” River starts consoling him, the younger one. Giving him hope but ultimately sealing them and their future together full circle. For the most part anyway.The younger version of him pleads, still pushing against the clock and hoping for an outcome different than that which is playing out. “Hush now, spoilers.”

 

River connects the final piece.

 

The Doctor does not remember her screaming that day but she is certainly screaming now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter quote from the Series 8 finale "Death In Heaven"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Doctor wills himself to stand there and see. He owes it to River not to flinch away from it, from this; the damage._ \- In the Library: While Blu patches River up, answers are given and promises are made.
> 
> Outside the Library: Clara's beginning of the end (so to speak) looms in the distance & older!Doctor is evasive but not transparent. Go figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** To be honest I wanted to see how Clara's storyline wrapped up on the show before continuing this series and then I mucked up because time passed  & writers block happened so, oops. Anyhow, this chapter contains some tiny hints on Clara's exit on the show but heavier references will come in the following chapters.

 

 

_Love is a promise._

 

 

 

The Doctor and Clara trekked the length from his family home back to the Tardis Clara had arrived in. It was a peculiar in the sense that Clara hadn’t mentioned arriving in the blue box nor where the Old Girl had parked herself. She doubts the Doctor had any time to question his son on the details of her arrival either. The Doctor seemed to know where to go anyway and Clara followed his lead.

 

She did feel it necessary to inform the Doctor of how his ship had gone completely mad this time around, to which he merely stated that she was being dramatic as ever, reminding her that the Tardis was known to take advantage of such emotions. They squabbled on the differing of opinions right up until the blue box came back into view. As annoyed as Clara had been with the Tardis she does perk up at the sight of her.

 

The Doctor wastes no time and snaps his fingers, the blue doors opening for her Thief at an instant. Clara quickly follows back inside his ancient time machine, taking her place not far from him and studying him with what she hoped passed off as sly glances.

 

This older Doctor had not bothered to change from his home clothes and so he stands piloting his ship dressed in a comfy old robe with stubble peppered across his cheeks and past his jawline. The fluffy white hair atop his head shines brighter that Clara can remember it ever having done, illuminated to full effect by the Tardis lights overhead.

 

“So where exactly do we go from here?” Clara questions him, quite eager to know herself.

 

“The past is what awaits you, Clara,” the Doctor answers. The statement hangs definitive and permanent in the air. He's somewhat glaring at her inquisitively and he even looks a bit skittish. As if her presence alone spooks him to his core.  “Loosely speaking,” he continues – an alternative perhaps, or a distraction tactic. She keeps her eyes peeled. “We’re putting the future on pause, so you really would have all the time in the world.”

 

Clara weighed out what it could possibly be that he was leaving unsaid. Her Doctor would tell her everything. Always. It was them against the world. Whatever is it that he isn't compelled to trust her with?

 

“This next stop would be the last stop then, yeah? So….” Clara drums her fingers on the console for dramatic effect. “What exactly are you waiting for, old man?”

 

The Doctor’s lips quirk, just barely, and his eyes crinkle up around the edges. They smile brightly where his lips fails to. “Ready or not,” he prompts, hand steady at the lever and brow raising higher in silent inquiry.

 

“Here we come,” Clara finishes for him, hanging on for dear life and positively beaming.

 

 

✯ ✯ ✯

 

 

River had screamed. From the start of the transfer she had burned up from the inside out and the Doctor, his son and Jack stood as witness.

 

With the upload complete Jack took action. Gathering River’s limp and ruined body into his arms and leading way into the Tesselecta med room, the Doctor and Blu following close after.

 

Their son had been quick in step, bustling past and hurrying to attend to the hurts of his unconscious mother. Blu lifts River’s head cautiously for closer inspection of her injuries. The sight of burn marks can been seen stemming from the back of her neck and spreading outward, much like a fire that’s caught in a dry field and left a very visible trail one can follow. Several of River’s beautiful curls have singed and, however gentle Blu's touch, most crack under the disruption of his fingertips. The Doctor wills himself to stand there and _see_. He owes it to River not to flinch away from it, from this; the damage.

 

“There’s swelling,” Blu reports, fingers pressing down along River’s throat gently. “She’s no doubt exhausted her vocal chords. Might be incapable of speaking for a while, too.”

 

Blu’s hands prove deft and precise in their practiced motion, the Doctor notes. He works the machines and equipment surrounding him much like he knows exactly what he’s doing. The more the Doctor watches, the more he feels the mismatched pieces are starting to add up.  That from the inklings and glimpses he’s had of Blu over the time he’s learned of his son's existence, it is at this precise moment that the obvious starts occurring. Oh, how he hates to miss the obvious when it is so blatantly in front of him.

 

“Internal injuries,” Blu recited aloud, checking off from a mental list no doubt. “That can be dealt with.”

 

“You’re a doctor.” It’s more a statement than an actual question and the Doctor waits for confirmation with genuine interest.

 

Blu’s hands, a millisecond ago working without pause, still at the observation. Seeming to be used to his father’s eventual guesswork, he resigns any denials on the matter and affords the Doctor a nod.

 

“I suppose,” Blu shrugs, modest and yet terribly arrogant to the fact. “A real one anyway,” he adds, eyes fixed on his father, challenging and full of wondrous mischief.

 

The Doctor cracks a grin despite the barb itself and pushes aside his own ego, choosing instead to ponder at the magnificence of it. It’s not quite pride he feels but something much more selfless. Something far more endearing and a lot more human.

 

Their son, a bloody doctor! Amy and Rory would be thrilled. They’d also be grateful. For this, for Blu. For what he's done. Saving her. 

 

“She’s only safe and here because of you, Blue,” the Doctor admits quietly. “Your mother. Alive.”

 

“ _Stop_ ,” Blu breathes out harshly, glaring into the monitors but not looking at them. Not quite. “She’s not. She’s no one. Not to me, you understand? Not _yet_. And she won’t know me either way, so…. So just don’t even start, alright?”

 

The Doctor swallows, processing Blu's sudden outburst. 

 

Blu doesn't waste time. He tends to the burns on his mother’s skin but his touch doesn't linger. He doesn’t look her in the face. Every action performed is clinical, detached. He’s trying so very hard to be brave, this son of theirs.

 

Blu has known all along what was in store for him and it is the Doctor who is just catching up.

 

It's going to be too early for her. When River wakes up she will not know their own son.

 

Blu will also never forget this moment. He will never be able to erase it. He will have to learn to live with it, this incident, and no one should ever have to do that. Especially not a child when concerning their own parent. And River. She would never forgive herself, having gone through the same thing with her own parents. The very notion of it is horrifying and it leaves a terrible strain in the already unquiet air. At this moment the Doctor wants nothing more than to shield Blu from the monstrous _thing_ that this encounter will bring to life for him, one that the Doctor knows intimately from experience. He knows the cost and the cost is too high. 

 

It matters not how long he has known of Blu being his son, let alone that he's yet to be a proper parent to the lad, the fact remains that he, the Doctor,  _is_ Blu's father. If Blu so wishes for a way out, and there is always a way, a choice, there has to be, the Doctor will find it. The rules be damned. He cannot sit idly by and let this happen without knowing Blu's stance on it. River would never forgive him for it and he would never forgive himself.

 

“You don’t have to do this," the Doctor proposes, as if he's cooing a baby to calm with gentle words. “Not _this_. We can find another way. Someone else can tend to your mother, Blu. It doesn’t have to be you.”

 

“Rule one doesn’t exactly fool anyone in this family, father.” Blu grins, bitter and desperate. “You probably ought to remember that for future reference.”

 

The look that passes across his son’s face settles over the Doctor in haunting quality, for once upon a time a plastic Centurion determined to guard a box had the same look about him. If Blu is anything like his Grandfather, the Doctor knows for certain that Blu will not change his mind nor will he abandon his part to play in this story. Blu is decided, end of. 

 

“If you insist, Blu,” the Doctor rasps, coming to grips with the situation himself. “And so what else?” he prompts eventually, enticing Blu to continue. To take out any volatile emotions the boy is keeping coiled up tightly inside of himself, because if Blu is to play the part of an unknown when it comes to River Song there can be no cracks threatening to spill at the surface. She can and will be able to tell. The Doctor knows this much. And it's the least he can do for Blu, for his boy. To help. In some way or other.  

 

His son however glares at him in a silent fury. Almost as if he doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of him. The reaction seems to last an eternity until Blu gives in and concedes to his father’s request, his shoulders drooping forward in surrender of the situation. Relinquishing control and handing it over to the one person he may be furious with but ultimately trusts.

 

Blu makes certain his mother will remain stabilized if he is to step away for second, in silent contemplation while the monitors beep back her sign of life, steady and unchanged. When convinced, finally, he backs away from River’s unconscious form and approaches his father hesitantly.

 

“She won’t remember most things,” Blu confesses in a tiny, insecure voice.

 

The Doctor winces at this, feeling more and more like he's being put in the position of coming across a tiny child rather than a fully grown man. He wants nothing more than to pick Blu up and shelter him away from everything that will hurt him, anything that can. This isn't fair. Not at all.

 

“Not at first, anyway." Blu continues, reminding the Doctor to pay attention. This was most certainly important. "She was uploaded into the Library for purposes of upholding timelines so somewhat, to some extent, she'll be split in halves. She'll remember you but she’ll forget, too. Her DNA will exhaust itself, acting as a fully operational host one moment and existing as a shade of herself the next. Going and coming back. Being where she needs to be, when she needs to be there."

 

"Her Data Ghost," the Doctor recalls. Musings of that particular encounter being put to rest, finally.

 

"Exactly!" Blu nodded. "She won't know this you. You haven't met yet, I mean: this you. Not yet, and everything will be coming to a close full circle and so she’ll have questions that only you can answer. It won’t be easy and… and you _have_ to take care of her. That’s your job now. No more popping in and out, not anymore. Do you hear me? Not for a while. Can you do that for her? Stay put and... and _be_ there?”

 

“That’s a sodding stupid question you already know the answer to,” the Doctor answers. _She’s my wife!_ he wants to admonish but Blu does really does look entirely unsure of the entire ordeal. The tension in his son only builds, worry etched onto Blu's face. It’s almost as if he doesn't think the Doctor capable of taking care of River Song. 

 

“You have my word, Blu.” The Doctor vows solemnly. Blu visibly relaxes at the prospect of an actual promise but the Doctor cannot leave it alone. The unsaid, the unknown, and he demands to know. “And what of you?" The Doctor reaches out a hand and closes it around his son's wrist, tugging at the man gently and looking in his eyes, saying _it's me, it's your father. Tell me you're going to be alright, or else let me help you._  

 

Blu’s expression is torn, then shifts. Suddenly inscrutable. He eyes the Doctor coolly. For a second the Doctor worries Blu will toss _spoilers_ in his face however the answer his son gives sits far worse in his conscience.

 

“Don’t you worry, father,” assures his son. “You of all should know that you’ll be seeing me again soon enough.”

 

 

✯ ✯ ✯

 

 

“There we are, perfect timing,” the Doctor announces.

 

“You sure about that?" Clara teases. “With your driving we never do know.”

 

The Doctor glares at her for a second before shooing her outside. They are met with the front side of the very house he and River share in the future only it appears perfectly empty. Looking around, Clara finds the entire area to be dead silent. And cold. _Very_ cold.  

 

“Why didn’t you tell me we landed in the North Pole!” Clara accuses with a full bodied shiver, curling her arms around herself and hoping to seek shelter back inside the warmth of the Tardis. The Doctor snaps his fingers, oblivious to her discomfort, and the doors come clamoring shut. Clara grumbles a few choice words at him for fairing the chill without much a bother. Then flurries of snow, or whatever it is that constitutes snow on this choice planet, catch in his puffy white hair. Clara is helpless in succumbing to the pointing and laughing that follows. 

 

“Oh, do pipe down,” the Doctor chastises. Hidden on the inside of his seemingly tattered robe he produces a set of keys joined with an envelope. He holds them out to her and says, “These are for you.”

 

“Bigger on the inside?” she guesses at the robe with a raised brow. The Doctor merely frowns. 

 

Clara snatches the items he’s offering with a glare. She tries to unfold the papers within the envelope but her shaky hands prove not to be as cooperative as she'd like. Alas, with no help from him, Clara finally has two sets of documents in hand. She has to squint in order to read them. They look to be two virtually identical papers only one is filled and the other blank.

 

“These are housing papers,” she names, her teeth chattering, much to her annoyance. Her eyes widen when she spots a particular piece of information. “Doctor,” Clara asks imploringly, “why is my signature on these deeds for residence?”

 

“Well,” the Doctor huffs, “you’re hardly going to do as I ask without proof, are you? And there it is. In pain text.” He taps at the papers. “So listen, why don’t you just go on inside and make yourself a cup of tea. And you know how to stoke a fireplace don’t you? Because you’re going to need to burn that one," he taps document already filled. “Preferably before the others get here.”

 

The Doctor eyes her warily before turning and descending the stairs of the property. Clara is quick to react, marching on after him and grabbing a hold of his arm before he can even attempt to disappear on her.

 

He gapes. “Well, what are you doing?”

 

“What am I doing?” she blurts incredulously. “What are _you_ doing? You obviously can’t just leave me here with deeds to houses and stuff! _And_ freezing, might I add!”

 

“You have a key, Clara!” the Doctor points out, dumbfounded. Oh, how she’ll smack him if he doesn’t start making sense soon. “And you won’t be alone here for long anyway,” he adds in, almost an incentive.

 

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” demanded Clara.

 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, “My guess is as good as yours.”

 

“Liar.”

 

The Doctor grins smartly, “Yeah, yeah. You and me both.”

 

Turning a calculating eye back towards the empty house, Clara tries to process the chain of events so far, as mismatched and out of order as they are, as evasive as the Doctor thinks he is…. Clara expects _some_ answers and she’ll darn right keep him here longer than he’s supposed to be if that’s what it'll take.

 

“So you’re telling me I’m just supposed to wait? That’s it? I wait here?”

 

This older, robe wearing, fluffy haired husband-father-home owning Doctor squints, calculating. “Ideally inside where you won’t catch something but yes,” he nods in affirmation. “That is the general idea.”

 

“And you’re just going to leave?” Clara receives another nod. “What, with no Tardis? How will you even get anywhere?”

 

“Don’t you worry about me,” says the Doctor. “I’ve got it all planned out. Honestly, you’re the one I worry about really.”

 

“Now there’s a vote of confidence if I ever heard one,” Clara deadpans.

 

“Nonsense you know I happen to think the world of you.” He says it so matter-of-factly that Clara warms at the compliment.

 

“Doctor," Clara sighs. She can't help the overwhelming static of uncertainty playing abuzz in her ears. "Why are we doing this? Going in circles? What is the point?”

 

There is a pause as he considers her question. He’s deciding whether to lie to her or to tell her the truth and which will fool her best. Sadly, she is no fool. 

 

“Sometimes, Clara,” he says softly, “if we're lucky things tend to happen in loops. Beginnings and ends follow in that similar pattern, and so on and on it goes. Some things cannot be stopped and… and some things, things that have been forgotten or lost, they can come back to you. And some things, they can be... delayed.”

 

“So then this is something, isn’t it?” Clara brightens at the idea. “Something big?”

 

The Doctor stares at her, eyes softening and just a tiny bit sad. “On you go, Clara Oswald. You have so much waiting for you.”

 

Clara wants to comment on it the second she notices. On those big sad eyes, but she catches glimpse of that empty house again. The one not yet a home. She thinks to ask on one other occurrence but turns to find the Doctor already across streetway and disappearing around the corner, all without a single goodbye. To her surprise Clara doesn’t find it odd nor does she feel the urge to go after him. She feels steady, as if she’s meant to be here exactly at this time and place, and not even the Doctor could pull her away.

 

Unsure but her curiosity piqued, Clara walks up the steps of property. The chill in the air has been completely forgotten now that a puzzle of sorts has been presented. Wide-eyed, she catalogs the differences that she can notice from her last visit onto this wholly new one, assuming she’ll need to remember it at some point. Next, Clara examines the key the Doctor handed over to her and finds it to be nothing overly special. It looked the same as any other key should. Finally, she turns her attention to the identical documents in her hand, focusing on the dates. The dates printed aren’t earth-bound dates however the names on the documentation of residence sends a wondrous thrill right through her. Three signatures looked up at Clara, her own penmanship among them. Feeling she has exhausted her examinations, Clara folds the unsigned form carefully and tucks it back into the envelope, keeping the signed document separate from it.

 

With a deep breath, Clara moves forward to unlock the front door of the house.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“She’ll be waking up any moment now."_ \- Settling in  & coming home. 
> 
> (To the future and the past. And yeah, kinda in that order.)

_The long way ‘round._

 

 

She waits for him at a corner shop of the planet they would herein call home. At least, from this day forward they would. Past-them.

 

River’s lips are pursed and she knows her hair is a golden spun of curls hastily tied back, poking out here and there. She’s frazzled and dressed herself in a rush (the Doctor's clothes, he'll like that) as soon as their son had woken her with tales of the girl who had arrived at their home out of nowhere after a lifetime of absence. Blu had led her to back to where he had found Clara, where a Tardis was no longer parked and her husband gone along with them. Off into the past, she suspected. Their past.

 

“You’re early.” Her husband says upon approaching.

 

River still had a bit of sleep in her eyes but she smiles at him nonetheless. “But of course, my love. We had a date, did we not?”

 

“Indeed.” He agrees. The Doctor’s eyes wander upon the sight of the planet. It’s barely out of its diapers but it’s getting there all the same.

 

“I trust you left Clara settling in well.” River comments, making conversation. She pushes up the dark blue coat with the red lining to reveal her vortex manipulator strapped around her wrist. She also makes sure to mention that their son won’t shut up about their surprise visitor in the night and that the Doctor has many question to answer when they arrive back to their time as she inputs coordinates. 

 

Silence.

 

A glance over at her husband and River’s hand stills. He looks shell-shocked, grasping, his eyes wet and his hand shaking like a leaf. 

 

“Sweetie?” she inquires.

 

“Yes,” the Doctor intones, quiet, his eyes fleeting, determined from meeting hers. “Yes, yes. Sorry, dear.” He wipes away the moisture in his eyes and gives a gruff inhale, pacing a few steps away and turning his back to her.

 

“Oh, don’t you start on this sorry nonsense on me,” River mutters, moving quickly to gather his attention before it slips away from them both and he hides the damage.

 

River stops his pacing, blocking his path and pulling the Doctor close, encircling her arms around him. His head falls forward instinctively, fitting perfectly right in the crock of her neck. Her words come as a harsh whisper. Too private to speak aloud and yet far too important to stay unsaid.

 

“Memories you didn’t have of your best friend for god knows how long came rushing back to you in the dead of night, and then Clara herself came back too. Sweetie….”

 

River Song falters. She holds her husband tighter and realizes they are both out of practice. They haven’t had to deal with events of such a wibbly-wobbly manner in eons, and so the Doctor startling awake, pacing up and down their bedroom, raving _I remember, River! I remember her, my impossible girl! I remember everything!_....

 

For the first three years of her life back with the living, Clara Oswald had been a part of it, of River's life, of all their lives. The woman had become as close as family. Clara had been there to help the Doctor when River wasn’t quite herself and she’d been there the night Blu was born. Until a day came, Clara and the Doctor had flown away in his Tardis. Same old, same old. Then, almost miraculously, he came back home and there was no more Clara Oswald. The Tardis held no imprint of her existence and there was a large gap in the Doctor’s memory.. Nothing but a name and a song but not the slightest bit of recollection to much else.

 

River hadn’t had to grasp at straws to guess exactly what that meant. She had enough experience to read the signs when they glaring back, right in front of her. For some reason or other, at some point in their timeline, the Doctor had found it fitting to erase Clara from his memory entirely, therefore forcing River to cover up any tracks as he’d left behind.

 

The years after Clara had exited their lives were filled with River purposely having to withhold knowledge of a woman who had become so dear to them all, so beloved.

 

Her throat tenses up, thickening with the overwhelming guilt of it. Her tongue feels much too big in her mouth, making her words stick to the top of her mouth and proving impossible to deliver. River swallows, having decided long ago that if she ever had a chance to fess up that’s just what she was going to do. Of course, it’s always a lot harder doing something than deciding it.

 

“It’s okay to take a breath, my love," she ventures, "to… to feel angry of all that was stolen from you. Even angry at, for example, me.” 

 

The Doctor goes completely motionless in her arms and slowly, very slowly, he extricates himself. Not entirely pulling away from her embrace but the loss of him is felt, the tension.  

 

“Aye,” he agrees. “And I am, River. Believe me, I am. You knew things, _important_ things, and you didn’t tell me and….” He shook his head, determined to speak his mind, no matter the urge to do the complete opposite and shut the hell up. “I’ll have to get over that because… because it’s not like you had a choice in lying to me. It happened abruptly, the way I remember it,” he confessed. “Her death. Then I went and buggered things up and acted even more abruptly. And the sodding Time Lords were no help either! It was all so long ago.”

 

“I am truly sorry anyway,” River whispered. “For any of it. All of it.”

 

“I know,” the Doctor took hold of her wrist. He input the last of the coordinates needed to get them out of there. “Enough of this for now. Let’s get back.”

 

He pushed a button and in an instant of crackling static they were gone.

 

 

✯ ✯ ✯

 

 

“Welcome _Home_ ,” the Hologram image recited. It had popped out on Clara the second the front door had shut, and to which she’d let out the most horrendously undignified yelp in all her years.

 

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Clara admonished the image, instantly struck by the rather human-likeness the hologram had chosen for a visage.

 

The hologram, tinged the color blue, held the form of a human woman. Or it looked human. It was dressed in a dark pant suit, hair slicked back and cut a few inches past the shoulder. Its face held no emotion, cold and detached, yet Clara’s intuition held a spark of recognition at it’s form.

 

“Welcome _Home_ ,” the hologram echoed again, as if waiting for a response.

 

“Hello,” Clara replied. “I’m-”

 

“You are,” the hologram then turned its face towards Clara in acknowledgment, a flash of light momentarily scanned Clara from head to toe, “Clara Oswald. Born on the 23rd of November 1986 on," the image paused, then continued, "See: Various. A partial holder of land and residence with the Doctor and Melody Williams. Death date-”

 

The image halted abruptly and Clara’s eyes had gone wide as saucers. The hologram blinked. Once. Twice.

 

“Unknown,” it continued. “I welcome you to the system _Home_ , Clara Oswald. Allow me to give you a tour.”

 

The hologram held out both palms, each containing two small choice boxes, one with the words YES and on one with the word NO. Clara reached out a hesitant finger and hovered over the YES option. She dipped her finger forward ever so slightly and the boxes disappeared, her choice seemingly accounted for.

 

“Thank you,” recited the hologram. The image lead Clara into what appeared to be the lounge, its arms outstretched to present the room.

 

Any questions Clara had the hologram answered. When it came to security the hologram informed her that the planet's orbiting area was sealed and further security measures were left to the will of the land owners. The hologram faded away the second the tour was completed and Clara had harder time recollecting how the Doctor and River’s house looked like in the future than she thought she would.

 

She firstly fetched out piece of paper, which she came across by peaking around in the upstairs drawers, and committed every memory she had of the Future Home down. From the forest of crystal matter to the see-through barrier, the passcode key that revealed a tall but earthly tree to the transport area that teleports you into the kitchen, and by the time she was done Clara felt more than accomplished.

 

Now came the waiting. The ever despairing, monotonous waiting. She opens a window on the second floor and gazes up at the stars, seeing the land spread out below, bare and knowing of what it could one day be.

 

 

✯ ✯ ✯

 

 

“She’ll be waking up any moment now,” Blu announces, making the Doctor stir from his very internal panic attack, ruthlessly going on in his head rather than outside and in the room with them.

 

“Right,” the Doctor plants himself on the opposite side of his son, both looking down on River.

 

He is visibly expectant while Blu remains entirely resigned. His son dons a thin surgical mask and cap (both light blue) so that most of his face is covered along with most of his hair, all hidden away but his eyes. They flicker a myriad of emotions. Too brilliant and bright and blue, they are. Never can the Doctor recall there been such raw intensity pouring out from those eyes, eyes that so resemble the Doctor’s own. 

 

The grown versions of Blu the Doctor tends to bump into mostly hides behind the driest of wits. There is always a scowl at the ready or a cutting smile to be earned, and to earn it one must impress the boy. (The Doctor has learned not to bother.) He leads his journeys too much with his own personal wants and bends only when it is evident that the Doctor will not. They have had more disagreements together than similar thoughts. Not for the first time does the Doctor contemplate the horrors that would come upon the cosmos should Blu and his old friend Missy ever cross paths..

 

To take the information he has gained of his son, the insights the Doctor has glimpsed at, that which he  _knows,_ and to now compare it with this magnificently jarring additional insight to his son, standing right in front of him.... The Doctor can only surmise that, up until now, he still does not know his son. Not yet, not truly. And he finds that he wants to. He wants to learn every single aspect of their son, his and River's. Every great divide, all of Blu's flaws and all of the remarkable qualities. The Doctor _wants_ the chance to love his son. Possibly wants it more than he ever had in all this time of knowing Blu existed. 

 

Jack Harkness chooses the Doctor's silent reflections as a ultimate moment to saunter back onto the med room. “We’re right on track.” And _bollocks_ , thinks the Doctor. How had he completely forgotten Harkness’s presence here?

 

Jack throws a wolfish smile his way and the Doctor shakes his head, cursing beneath his breath. “And where were you?” he questions Jack, if a bit sharply. Pronunciation of the - _oo_ sticking to his tongue.

 

“Getting us home,” replies Captain Jack slowly, grinning wider, like he’s won some bloody prize. “You know, you get _really_ Scottish when you’re flustered. It’s hot.”

 

“Have you no sense of when to behave yourself!” The Doctor scowls. And he absolutely does _not_ turn another shade of red under Harkness’s dreadful help to an eyeful either. “ _Don’t_ ,” he says. A warning. 

 

The Doctor picks up River’s hand out of reflex and wanting, pushing it against his cheek and finds himself shocked with how little warmth her skin has retained in the passing time.  In all his recollections her skin had always been warm to the touch, cheeks rosy. She appears all but lifeless, still.

 

River gasps suddenly and the Doctor’s hold on her hand tightens from the surprise. He glances over at Blu who motions for him to release hold of River’s hand. He would really rather not but he does as his son requests. Then, her eyelids flutter open. River’s eyes are tinged red and her irises dart this way and that, unable to find their focus.

 

Blu’s voice is soothing but firm. “Don’t try to move too quickly, Professor Song,” he tells her. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

 

“Who are you?” she asks, urgently, and the Doctor cringes. Blu does not.

 

“I’m your physician at this moment,” Blu informs her. “My name is Dr. Williams.”

 

The surname calms her evidently. “My father,” River exhales shakily, “he was a Williams, too.”

 

“I am aware,” Blu replies. He reaches his hand out towards her and stops, “May I take your pulse? You have the right to refuse.” River’s body goes very tense, as if she’s coiling up from the inside out, eyes widening and breathing coming out in short puffs. “This is your choice, Professor,” Blu reminds softly. “I am only here to make sure you are able to leave my care a healthy woman. You are out of the Library.”

 

“I’m,” River’s breath catches and her eyes well up. She sniffles and has a very hard time containing her emotions. She can't seem to find her voice. Blu injects something into her IV and she settles, uncurling and tension dispersing.  “I can’t… I can’t move."

 

“Effects of the extraction,” Blu informs her. “You will be able to move in the near future, of that I assure you.”

 

“My husband,” River mentions. “He said, he was there, two of him, and he said he’d save me.”

 

“Your husband is here.” Blu confirms neutrally. “He may have had a bit of an accident though.”

 

There is no mistaking her relief. She smiles. “He does that,” she utters, eyelashes fluttering, fighting against the urge to shut.

 

“Yes. I must warn you that this accident in particular has given him a different face,” Blu says without pause. “Are you alright with that?”

 

River’s smile wavers. The Doctor can only watch, helpless, as she starts to curl into herself again and gentle sobs start to echo, the only sound in the room. Blu allows his mother to go through the motions of her distress before carrying on with anything else.

 

Watching River break down like this over the loss of his previous face is hard. The Doctor had doubts first and then assurances later that River could indeed look past a face, however River is not all herself yet, and it all hurts either way. He is suspended by the urge to turn and walk out, to walk away. To run.

 

He stays.

 

“But…. But is he _alright_?” 

 

“He’s alive, yes. Would you like to see him?” Blu asks.

 

A pause.

 

“Oh, yes. Please, yes.” River requests, her voice small and dear, hiccuping from her sobs, and the Doctor’s hearts weaken and strengthen. Both at the same time.

 

 

✯ ✯ ✯

 

 

 

Clara is minding her own business in the house when the Doctor pops up out of nowhere, River in tow. She decides to give the reunited couple a bit of space after River has settled in, only the Doctor forbids it. He escapes, heading right back down the stairs to the kitchen with the excuse of setting a kettle on and so  Clara finds herself left alone with River in the quiet of the upstairs master bedroom.

 

“Do we know each other?” River asks. Her voice is sleep-slurred as she speaks and her eyes are red and droopy. She's downright exhausted.  

 

“Er,” Clara replies unintelligibly, going through the motions in her head on what a safe answer would be. She chooses, “One day,” and figures an introduction wouldn’t hurt. “I’m Clara, by the way. Clara Oswald. I’m here to help.”

 

“So he’s picked up another one,” River murmurs softly. “I'm glad he did. Shouldn't be alone." And River drifts. Seconds, until: "Welcome aboard, Clara. Although, if we’ve met I hardly need to say that, do I?”

 

Clara grins. “It’s a right joy to hear either way.”

 

River is _tired_. Too tired to keep her eyes open waiting for the Doctor to make a pot of tea or whatever excuse he's dolling out. Clara brims with outrage. He’s _hiding_. While River is finally home, the Doctor is busy running.

 

Clara finds him outside, sitting on the steps out front, steps away from his big blue box. Brooding.

 

“Welcome to Home, or whatever,” she tells the Time Lord, slipping into the space at his side without invitation. It’s doubtful she’d have gotten one and neither does she care for it.

 

“Home,” the Doctor echoes back to her. He gives her a _look_ , a silent inquiry of sorts. 

 

Clara waves a hand towards the house their future selves made damn sure they knew to inherit. “The hologram lady. she's all Welcome Home _this_ , enjoy Home _that_.  I can’t do this if that hologram stays. Popping in and out like she's my Gran or something.”

 

A ghost of a smirk appears across the Doctor’s face. “The planet has named itself equivalent of familial Earthly ties. It’s Home, Clara. The hologram was not greeting you to a place, it’s the name of the planet. We’re literally on Planet _Home_.”

 

Clara considers this, however bigger issues weigh out the need to know how he's come by this apparent information. “So,” she says, with great care for where she's about to tread. “Seems you’ve got the Missus back for the hols.”

 

“Indeed,” the Doctor agrees softly - a solemn spoken fact.

 

Clara cannot for the life of her understand what was so upsetting about such a wonderful accomplishment. He should be raving mad with joy. The Doctor is home now and yet here sits, tense with trepidation of all that was to come. 

 

Clara stares. She demands more answers without demanding and, in the end, stares a whole lot more. “That should shorten the Christmas list some, eh?”

 

The Doctor simply hums. Oblivious to all her unspoken judgments. “That it should," he says.

 

Clara sighs. “Merry Christmas, Doctor.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Clara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter completes this particular part of the series. Look out for the next one !


End file.
